


Difficult Bonds

by katling



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Growth, Don't worry, It is now, Little bit of angst, M/M, Mentions of Slavery, Snarky fluff, and kind of dumb at the same time, binding spells, botched magic, dorian is very clever, except for the discussion about slavery, fenris is stubborn, gets a teeny bit racy at the end, is that a thing?, slaves can't give consent, slowly changing opinions, there's a lot of asking for consent here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 01:26:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20770229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katling/pseuds/katling
Summary: When Fenris is brought to Skyhold suffering the effects of Venatori magic in his markings, Dorian is the only one who can help him. But in order to do so, he needs to bind them together. In an effort to make things fair, he tries some impromptu adjustments of the spell and the results will certainly be interesting.





	Difficult Bonds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wednesday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/gifts).

> This kind of meandered in directions that I didn't initially intend for it to go but I wasn't exactly going to tell Fenris he couldn't do that. Hope you enjoy it!

When the Chargers returned from their scout around the ruins of Haven, they brought with them a ragtag group of survivors who had either been willing to make the trek up into the Frostbacks straight away or were in need of more healing than was available from the allies who had come to help them. The denizens of Skyhold turned out the moment Krem’s group were sighted and quickly swarmed over the new arrivals, whisking them away to be warmed up or to the newly established healers’ wing. Only one stretcher remained, guarded by the Chargers themselves, the occupant bundled up in blankets and barely visible. The newly crowned Inquisitor Adaar and Bull made their way over.

“Krem de la crème,” Bull said expansively, looking down at the stretcher being carried by Stitches and Dalish with a raised eyebrow. “What’ve you got?”

“I wasn’t sure what to do with him,” Krem said, looking grim and just a little uncomfortable. “He doesn’t seem to be badly hurt, at least not that Stitches can figure out, but he’s been unconscious since we dug him out of the ruins. We wouldn’t have found him at all if not for Skinner’s sharp eyes.”

Krem twitched the blankets back from the person on the stretcher to reveal an obviously elven face. It was the markings on the elf’s chin and neck, disappearing under the armour, that drew their attention.

“Hey, is that…” Bull frowned and leaned forward. “We should get Varric.”

“Yeah,” Adaar said with a matching frown. 

He grabbed a passing scout and sent them up to the main building. A few minutes later, Varric came hurrying over, puffing slightly.

“Varric,” Adaar said, gesturing towards the stretcher. “Friend of yours?”

Varric looked confused until he got close enough to the stretcher then his eyes widened almost comically. “Broody! Bloody hell. What’s he doing here?”

“We found him in the ruins of Haven,” Krem said. “He hasn’t woken up the entire time. Stitches doesn’t think he’s physically hurt.”

Varric stood next to the stretcher then he hesitantly reached out and brushed a hand through Fenris’ white hair. He suddenly snatched his hand back and smiled wryly at the others. “He’d never let me do that if he was awake.” He looked at Krem. “He was alone?”

Krem shrugged. “Hard to tell but it seemed like it.”

Varric grimaced. “I knew he was off hunting down slavers but that doesn’t explain why he was anywhere near Haven. Last word I had from him, he was in Orlais.”

“Let’s get him to the healers,” Adaar said, patting Varric on the shoulder. “We’ll look after him, Varric. Don’t worry.”

Varric nodded and trotted off after the Chargers as they started carrying Fenris towards the healers’ wing.

“Huh,” Bull said. “I always say there aren’t any coincidences.”

“We’ll see,” Adaar said.

*****

Four days later, Adaar slipped into the room in the healers’ wing where Fenris had been placed. Varric was sitting beside the elf’s bed and he looked up when Adaar entered.

“Inquisitor,” Varric said with a nod.

“How is he?”

“The same.” Varric sighed. “Anyone found any answers?”

“Not yet.” Adaar hesitated. “I’d like to ask someone to help but given what you’ve told me about Fenris, I thought I’d better ask for your advice first.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Fire away.”

“I’d like to ask Dorian Pavus to help,” Adaar said bluntly.

Varric winced. “The Tevinter mage?”

Adaar nodded. “I don’t know if he _can_ help but the healers are adamant that there’s nothing physically wrong with Fenris and that they think it has something to do with those markings.”

Varric shifted on the stool he was sitting on and looked over at the unconscious elf. “I didn’t get the impression that what was done to him was commonplace in Tevinter.”

“I know,” Adaar said soothingly. “As I said, I don’t know if Dorian can help but I’d like him to at least take a look. Maybe he knows something that mages in the south don’t.”

Varric chewed on that for a moment. “I’m staying with him.”

“Of course,” Adaar said with a nod. “I’ll stay as well if that will help.”

Varric nodded and Adaar slipped out of the room with more grace than seemed possible for someone his size. He returned about half an hour later with the Tevinter mage in tow. It was the first time Varric had gotten a good look at the man when he wasn’t freezing half to death. There was something of the air that Danarius had possessed around Dorian but Varric suspected that was more to do with the fact that Dorian was apparently nobility than anything else. He’d seen similar attitudes in Orlesians and Marcher nobles after all. 

He was handsome enough though and a half a dozen story ideas ran through Varric’s mind before he pushed them away. Dorian looked curious and slightly baffled to be here and he looked between Varric and Adaar expectantly.

“Can you figure out why he won’t wake up?” Adaar said bluntly. The huge Vashoth warrior was a man of few words, something Josephine was working hard to change before she unleashed him on the Orlesians. “The mages say it’s probably magic but they don’t know what’s going on.”

Dorian blinked and walked over to the bed. He took one look at Fenris and reared back with a startled oath.

“Sparkler?” Varric said as he rose to his feet and moved protectively in front of the unconscious elf on the bed.

Dorian waved a hand at both Varric and Adaar. “It’s alright. I just… Maker, I thought the stories were just an exaggeration.”

“I’ll admit I do embellish a _bit_,” Varric began.

“Not yours, though I had suspected you took some liberties,” Dorian said, interrupting him. “The ones at home. Oh, what _was_ the Magister’s name? Blast, I can’t remember.”

“Danarius?” Varric said warily.

Dorian clicked his fingers and pointed at him. “Yes! That’s the one. When I was studying at the Minrathous Circle, there were stories floating around about a Magister who had…” He broke off and looked disturbed and more than a little sick. “Who had branded lyrium into his slave. Maker’s balls. I’d always thought they were a… a cautionary tale about how not to misuse magic.”

“Not so much,” Varric said dryly.

“No.” Dorian looked at Fenris soberly. “Inquisitor, I have no idea what kind of magic might have been used to create these other than blood magic and that’s not something I’ve ever used or really studied all that much.”

“Can you at least try?” Adaar asked.

“Of course!” Dorian frowned. “I’ll do what I can but I can’t make any promises.”

Adaar nodded and leaned up against the wall as Dorian sat down on the edge of the bed and held his hands over Fenris. Adaar and Varric watched as Dorian muttered and mumbled and cast spell after spell. Finally the mage sat back and looked frustrated.

“Not good news then,” Varric said grimly.

Dorian hesitated and shook his head. “Well, no, but it’s not _bad_ news either. There’s something… odd about the markings that I can’t quite figure out but I _can_ confirm that it’s the markings that are keeping him unconscious. My initial guess is that he had a run in with the Venatori when they attacked Haven and something happened there.”

“Can you figure it out?” Adaar asked.

Dorian stared down at the elf. “I think so. I’m going to need to do some research, possibly send a letter or two to a friend in Tevinter but I think I can figure it out.” He looked over at Varric with a faintly amused expression. “If Fenris’ guard dog will let me in again to see if my research will have any effects.”

Varric chuckled. “If you’ve read my book, you know why I’m protective. He’s not a slave anymore, Sparkler.”

“That seems quite obvious,” Dorian said dryly. “I will actually write to my friend no matter what. If nothing else I can make sure that Danarius’ relatives aren’t intending to come after him.”

“Huh, I never thought about that possibility,” Varric said. “That might be a good idea.”

Dorian got up and hurried out of the room without another word. Adaar watched him go and then raised an eyebrow at Varric.

“Happy to let him help?”

“Yeah, he seems to have some good intentions but I’m going to keep an eye on him.” Varric sighed. “For Broody’s sake.”

*****

Four weeks later, Dorian came into Fenris’ room with a letter in his hand and a frown on his face. Fenris was still unconscious, though they’d discovered that he would drink if they carefully poured liquid into his mouth bit by bit. They had used that to sustain him in the last few weeks with nourishing broths but it was not a long term solution.

“I can’t tell whether that look is good or bad, Sparkler,” Varric said dryly. “But I’m guessing bad because that’s the way this has been going.”

“Well,” Dorian said a little whimsically. “I have good news and bad news for you. And one of the bits of good news is also kind of the bad news.”

Varric rolled his eyes. “Wonderful. Well? Spit it out.”

Dorian held up the letter. “The _good_ good news is that Fenris is in the clear from any of Danarius’ relatives coming after him. Apparently he doesn’t _have_ any relatives.”

“That is good news,” Varric said with a nod.

“Now the good but bad news.” Dorian hesitated. “With a little bit of help from my friend Maevaris, I’ve worked out why Fenris won’t wake up.”

“How is that bad news?”

“It isn’t. What I’m going to have to do to fix it is the bad news.”

“Well, now I’m prepared for the ominous, fire away,” Varric said dryly.

Dorian sighed. “Firstly, Danarius was an indescribable bastard. I’m not sure he really knew what he was doing when he branded that lyrium into Fenris’ skin. Secondly, I can fix things so that he wakes up and will be fine but…” He grimaced. “He’d have to be magically bound to me for a period of time.”

Varric stared at him for a long, long moment. “Magically bound? Yeah, that’s going to go down well.” He ran a hand down his face. “Explain to me why.”

“The markings are unstable,” Dorian said with a bluntness that Varric actually appreciated. “They need to be maintained by a mage or by magic anyway. Somehow that’s been done thus far, perhaps it simply needs magic to be used on them, in which case healing would be enough. But that’s beside the point right now. Something happened at Haven. I have no idea what but I suspect it has to do with whatever perverted magic the Venatori are using. _Maybe_ the red lyrium as well but I’m not entirely sure about that. I can however feel the… wrongness of the magic in Fenris’ markings. I can get rid of it but if I tried without the binding, I’d destabilise the markings to the point where they’d simply… unravel, for lack of a better word. That would kill him. Very, very painfully. If I bind him to me, I can sustain the markings while I fix them. I can _possibly_ even stabilise them. Maybe.”

“Andraste’s arse,” Varric said heavily. He swallowed and looked down at Fenris. “Is there any way to wake him up? I.. this isn’t something I can say yes or no to. I really can’t. It has to be his decision.”

Dorian nodded. “Yes, there is. I made sure of that because I thought that might be your answer. It won’t be for long otherwise he’s going to be in some serious pain but it should be for long enough.”

“Right.” Varric sighed and scrubbed his face with both hands for a moment. “Do it but stay out of sight for the moment and let me do the talking.”

Dorian nodded and cast a spell over Fenris. As soon as it began to take hold and Fenris showed signs of waking up, he withdrew into the far corner of the room and leaned against the wall. Varric sat down next to the bed and waited patiently as Fenris twitched then groaned and opened his eyes.

“Varric?” Fenris said hoarsely.

“Yeah, Broody, it’s me.”

“What’s… wrong with me?”

Varric grimaced. “Yeah, that’s what we need to talk about. Something happened at Haven, didn’t it?”

Fenris frowned. “Magic. Never… felt anything like it.”

Varric licked his lips. “That makes sense. Look, Broody, we don’t have a lot of time so I’m going to talk and you’re going to try not to climb the walls.”

“No… promises,” Fenris whispered, drawing a weak chuckle from Varric.

“Your markings are causing the problems right now,” Varric explained. “They’re unstable and they’ve been affected by the magic used by the Venatori. There’s a mage here who says he can fix it but… there’s two things about this you’re not going to like. One, he’s a Tevinter mage. Not a Magister and _nothing_ like Danarius, Broody, I promise.”

Fenris had gone very still and there was a look in his eyes that Varric didn’t much like as he spoke, “And the second part?”

“You’d have to be bound to him magically for a period of time.”

“NO!” Fenris snarled, trying to sit up then collapsing back onto the bed with a gasp of pain.

“Yeah, I figured that was going to be your reaction,” Varric said grimly. “But Broody… Fenris… you need to know that if you don’t do this, you’re going to die. Painfully.”

Fenris stared up at the ceiling. “Explain.”

Varric looked over at Dorian. “Sparkler?”

Fenris’ head whipped around as Dorian moved closer to the bed. He stared at the mage intensely then frowned. 

“I don’t know you.”

“Dorian of House Pavus,” Dorian said with a slight bow. “I doubt you would. My father was not someone who would associate with Danarius.”

Fenris glared at him suspiciously. “Explain this,” he demanded, gesturing towards himself.

“You must be able to feel that your markings are… wrong?” Fenris nodded shortly and Dorian continued, “The Venatori have been messing around with all sorts of magic, most of it unpleasant. I suspect that’s what has affected your markings. But whatever it is, it’s destabilising them. Danarius was an idiot who didn’t seem to know what he was doing and the markings were never stable in the first place. They always needed to be maintained by magic but this magic is just making them worse.”

“Why the binding?”

“I can… clean them up, so to speak, but if I were to do it without the binding, the markings would destabilise completely and… unravel.” Dorian grimaced. “Which would be very painful and very deadly given how integrated the lyrium in those markings is with your body. With the binding, I could maintain and support the markings while they were being sorted out. I _might_ even be able to stabilise them to the point where they would no longer need magic to maintain them.”

Fenris simply glared at him in the aftermath of that explanation and Dorian sighed and sagged a little.

“If there was another way to do this, I would tell you. I’ve spoken to some of the other mages here and they can’t find another way either. I also looked into whether it could be someone other than me but my magic is most closely aligned with the magic of the markings, probably because Danarius and I both were taught from similar schools of magic. One of the others _might_ be able to do it but there would be some potentially disastrous risks.”

“How much control would these bindings give you?” Varric asked and they could see from the way he flinched that was the question Fenris had been thinking but hadn’t wanted to ask.

“A fair bit but I would be willing to swear whatever oath you require not to do so,” Dorian replied, looking straight at Fenris. “I’ve already spoken to Commander Cullen about making a Templar or two available for you to speak to if you have any concerns. In fact, he’s willing to do so himself. He says he knows you a little.”

“Cullen?” Fenris said with a frown. “Knight-Captain Cullen?”

“Commander now, Broody,” Varric said, patting his arm. “I’ll explain later.”

“There is no other way?”

Dorian shook his head. “I’m sorry. I looked for one, I promise.”

Fenris looked away and stared at the wall for a long time. Dorian started to get a little edgy and gave Varric a significant look. Varric grimaced and nodded.

“Broody? I hate doing this but Dorian can’t keep you awake for too much longer without putting you in danger.”

“Do it,” Fenris said shortly. His glare when he looked at Dorian was sulphurous. “But know this, mage, if you use this for your own gain, I _will_ find a way to crush your heart in your chest.”

“He can do it too,” Varric said lightly.

Dorian rolled his eyes. “I have read your book, Varric.” His expression when he looked at Fenris was sombre. “I know you have no reason to believe a mage from Tevinter but I swear to you I will not use this for my gain, only to protect you and help you get better.”

Fenris gave a short nod but the look in his eyes broke Varric’s heart. He looked… lost and despondent, resigned even, as though this was one step to becoming a slave once again. Varric gave Dorian an imploring look and Dorian seemed to set his shoulders. He raised his hands and with a few words he cast his spell. Varric watched with a wince as the spell wound itself around Fenris’ chest and settled it. Then Dorian suddenly barked a word and made a sharp gesture before groaning and sinking to his knees.

“Sparkler!” Varric shot to his feet and hurried over to the shaking mage. “What’s wrong?”

“He is… a _fool_,” Fenris gasped. 

Varric looked back at him. “What’s he done?”

“Made the binding two-way.” Fenris sat up painfully. “It is not meant to be used that way.”

“Yes, well, turnabout is fair play,” Dorian gasped as he sat up on his haunches. “What’s good for the goose is good for the gander and all that.” He rubbed his chest but it seemed to be a reflex move because he was still shaking. “That… really hurts, doesn’t it?”

Fenris snorted and Varric looked between the two of them. “Wait… can you feel what Broody’s feeling?”

“Yes,” Fenris said. “Because he is an _idiot_.”

“On the other hand, it’s _magnificent_ incentive to do this right,” Dorian said. He still looked decidedly uncomfortable but he seemed to be getting used to it.

“Sparkler, have you done something that’s going to get me yelled at?” Varric said with a hint of exasperation.

Dorian looked up with him with more than a hint of amusement. “Why would _my_ decisions get _you_ yelled at?”

“Because Adaar told me to keep an eye on the pair of you and not let either of you do anything stupid,” Varric said with a roll of his eyes. “So, does this qualify as something stupid?”

“No,” Dorian said at the same time Fenris said, “Yes.”

Dorian tutted. “Such ingratitude.”

“Do you know how to undo this?” Fenris said acidly.

“Theoretically, yes.”

Fenris gave him a flat look. “Theoretically.”

“I’m very good with theory,” Dorian said as he levered himself to his feet. He swayed for a moment before Varric steadied him. “And with the practical for that matter.”

Varric sighed and shook his head. “I hope you know what you’re doing, Sparkler.”

“Always,” Dorian said with a confident smile.

Varric glanced over at Fenris and saw him giving the mage a curious and somewhat speculative look. It occurred to him that if this two-way bond Dorian had put in place fed Fenris’ pain to Dorian, what must it be feeding back to Fenris?

“So what now?”

“Fenris gets some rest, I’ll go and fall on my nose somewhere and do the same then I’ll come back and we can get this show on the road, as it were,” Dorian said.

Varric raised an eyebrow at Fenris, who nodded his agreement and lay back down on the bed. He gave Dorian another piercing look but the mage walked out of the room without any of the shakiness he’d been showing before.

“Broody…” Varric began, looking worried.

“He is an idiot,” Fenris said quietly. “But he is showing more trust to me than I can manage in return.”

Varric nodded. “Don’t hurt him, yeah? He’s a good one under all the posturing.”

Fenris was silent and Varric thought he’d fallen asleep but then he heard a very quiet, “So it seems.” He didn’t comment though the remark certainly got him thinking, and soon he heard Fenris’ breathing slip into a sleep rhythm.

******

Fenris woke with a start, feeling afraid and angry and so achingly heartbroken that it almost brought him to tears but also aware that the emotions were not his. He sat up and frowned as the edges of those emotions faded back down the bond that had been created between him and the Tevinter mage. He scowled almost automatically at that thought but it had less heat in it than might have been expected and not just because of the emotions that had woken him up.

The mage had somehow created a two-way binding spell. He’d had a binding spell placed on him before a few times, when he’d gotten rebellious. He knew what they felt like and how they could be used. This one felt… odd. It almost felt like that by making it two-way, Dorian had diminished it somehow. A binding spell like this one could be used to make the subject of the spell do anything but though he suspected he _could_ influence Dorian’s actions, it would not be control. Nowhere near it in fact. It would be the equivalent of yelling ‘Down!’ and tugging on someone’s sleeve when something dangerous was happening.

He wasn’t sure that had been Dorian’s intention when he’d done this but it had reduced a lot of his rancour. Because the spell went both ways. He could not control Dorian and Dorian could not control him, not the way Danarius had. So whether Dorian had intended it or not, Fenris was grateful for it.

A wave of grief through the binding spell made him frown then it abruptly cut off, which only made his frown deepen. He shoved the blankets back and swung his legs over the side of the bed. A glance showed him that Varric was asleep on a bedroll at the side of the room and that his armour and sword were tucked away next to the bed. The healers had dressed him in a loose pair of breeches and an equally loose shirt so he grabbed his sword and slung it over his shoulder but left his armour where it was. He would not go anywhere without his weapon but he felt tired and achy enough to want to leave the armour off for now.

He opened the door to the room and moved on silent bare feet through the healers’ wing. The other patients in the ward were asleep and he managed to evade the notice of the few healers who were quietly moving around, checking on everyone. Once he was out of there, he let the binding spell tell him which direction to go until he ended up in a large round room with murals painted on part of the walls. Up above he could hear someone muttering and he made his way up the stairs to a library, where Dorian was shelving books as he muttered and mumbled to himself.

Fenris leaned against the wall and watched the mage. His accent and manner of speaking was familiar and set off all sorts of warnings in Fenris’ mind but other than that, the mage bore little resemblance to Danarius. His superior manner was almost played as a joke and he seemed far more self-deprecating than any other Magister he’d ever encountered. Though, he realised, Dorian probably wasn’t a Magister, not if he’d mentioned a father. That would make him an Altus.

“I know you’re there, you know?” Dorian said irritably, glancing over his shoulder briefly before returning to his books. “This binding spell is quite inconvenient.”

Fenris snorted but he didn’t move from where he was. “That was not the view Danarius took.”

“Danarius was an arrant fool and a disgrace of a human being,” Dorian snapped. “It’s one thing to indulge in experimental magic, it’s quite another to do so when you don’t know what you’re going to achieve.” There was a slight pause then he continued in an even more caustic tone, “And when you decide that the issue of consent doesn’t apply.”

Fenris quirked an eyebrow. Dorian was being quite sincere, despite his snippy tone. It was strange to know that and what’s more, to know that it was not a guess of any description. The binding spell was utterly unlike his previous experience with the things and he wasn’t sure whether he found that comforting or disturbing.

“Since when has anyone ever required _consent_ when a slave was involved,” he said dryly.

He flinched a little at the wave of shame and despair that flooded down the bond between them and then he snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Was it the pretty maid?” he said, not bothering to filter his harsh tone. “Or some girl sold into service at a brothel?”

This time it was Dorian who flinched. He went still and silent, leaning his forehead against the books as his shoulders slumped. Fenris could feel the weariness and regret residing deep in the man’s heart, so deep that he was surprised that Dorian was still standing. It wasn’t what he expected and he almost regretted asking the question. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see the man as someone sympathetic.

“Never the household slaves,” Dorian whispered. “I never touched them. But…” He gave a weak laugh that held no humour. “Replace girl with young man and you’ve got the brothel part right.” He sighed. “I always asked, I truly did, but it wasn’t really consent, was it?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at the ‘young man’ part but little more than that. “What slave can truly give consent?” he said in a flat tone.

Dorian turned then and leaned against the bookcase. He looked tired and drawn as he ran a hand down his face. Suddenly the words ‘_maybe my father was right_’ flooded through Fenris’ mind and he was momentarily overwhelmed with images – a room sparse enough to be called a cell, a door locked tight, another room deep underground, blood… so much blood, _magic_ – and with the images came a terrible understanding of their meaning.

“Fenedhis!” he swore as he shook his head. “What have you to done to this damn spell, mage?”

He looked up to find Dorian staring at him with horror. As soon as he realised Fenris was looking, he flinched and turned away.

“I honestly don’t know,” Dorian said hoarsely. “I just… thought to make it less than it should be. And fair.”

Fenris bit back a curse but he realised Dorian had heard it anyway when he twitched and leaned against the wall next to the window. He wrestled his temper back under control before he triggered his markings. He knew how that felt and he didn’t think adding that particular pain to all of this would be helpful to either of them.

“Your father was wrong,” he snapped, shifting his shoulders as though to shuck away the images. “You think what the nobility of Tevinter hold to be wrong is considered that anywhere else?”

He got a startled look for his trouble and snorted. “Did you think Hawke and Anders spent all their time discussing magical theory and mage rebellion?” He paused and looked faintly amused. “Actually they spent a great deal of their time doing that but not all.”

Dorian smiled faintly. “I hadn’t got that far in Varric’s book.” He cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t like Hawke.”

Fenris blinked then rolled his eyes. “Varric likes to exaggerate. Hawke and I disagree on many things but he is nevertheless a friend. I do not hate mages unreasonably. I do not _trust_ mages but I reserve my hate for the ones who truly deserve it.”

“That’s good to know,” Dorian said in a pale imitation of his normal manner. “Assuming I’m not one of those you feel deserving of hate.”

“No, you are not,” Fenris said, somehow managing to not roll his eyes again.

“That’s a relief.” Dorian seemed to relax a little then he gave a frustrated huff. “I honestly don’t know what I’ve done with this spell to make it so…” He waved a hand. “I do know I could remove it if you wanted. You hardly need to have my problems shoved into your mind.”

“Don’t you need the spell?” Fenris asked.

“I could… use the normal one?”

Fenris considered the matter. “I… do not mind this one. You cannot force me to do anything I truly do not wish to do with this one. That means more that you might realise.” He shrugged. “Besides, you are getting the same from me. Just because you’ve chosen not to mention that doesn’t mean I don’t know.”

“Ah, well, yes,” Dorian said, looking a little nonplussed. “I was planning on just conveniently ignoring that.”

Fenris rolled his eyes. “And were you planning on ignoring this?” 

He immediately activated his markings, wincing a little at the way they felt now. The pain was greater than normal but more importantly when they were active, the… _wrongness_ in them was more obvious.

“Andraste’s arse,” Dorian said through gritted teeth. “Alright, you’ve made your point.”

Fenris let the markings settle into quiescence again. It was interesting seeing the experience in someone else. He’d long ago become inured to the pain, to the point where he barely acknowledged it. He _felt_ it, to be sure, but it was the price he paid for the abilities the markings gave him so he’d stopped dwelling on it some time ago.

“Is that… normal?” Dorian said, shuddering at the memory of the pain.

Fenris shook his head. “No. It’s… greater at the moment. And they feel wrong. But there is always pain.” He couldn’t help but quirk his lips at the very unflattering curses that slipped through the binding spell from Dorian. “That is an understatement.”

Dorian arched an eyebrow at him then snorted. “What an idiot. He truly deserved his fate.” He frowned. “Did he have any close friends? I know he doesn’t have any family.”

Fenris shrugged. “I have no idea. He had many acquaintances but I’m not sure if any of them were _friends_. Why?”

“Because if he had no one to leave his notes and work to then the Circle would have claimed it,” Dorian said thoughtfully. “Which Circle did he belong to?”

“Vyrantium, I think,” Fenris replied after a moment’s thought.

“Excellent,” Dorian said with a sudden grin. “I know a few people there who might be willing to help.”

“What are you planning?” Fenris demanded.

“If Danarius made notes about what he did to you, I might be able to get copies,” Dorian replied. He then hesitated and sobered. “I doubt I could remove them though. They’re too… embedded in you now. Your body has adapted to them. To remove them might cause more pain and trouble than placing them in the first place.”

“No!” Fenris barked then he drew in a deep breath and bowed his head. “No. Whatever problems they may cause, I will not lose everything I have worked so hard for.”

He didn’t hear Dorian come closer and it wasn’t until the man placed a hand on his shoulder that he realised he was there. For a moment, his markings flashed to life then he calmed himself and twitched his shoulder until Dorian let go.

“I’m not sure what nerve I hit there but I am sorry,” the mage said quietly.

Fenris glared at him then forced his panic and anger down. “I have no memory from before the markings being placed.”

“Ah,” Dorian said with a wince. “Just when I think it can’t get any worse, you come up with something new.”

Fenris snorted then clutched at the wall when his knees buckled underneath him. Dorian caught his arm and helped him over to the chair in the little niche. He helped him get his sword off before letting him collapse into the chair.

“I’m not certain you should be up and about,” Dorian observed after he’d stepped back, picking up through the bond that Fenris was uncomfortable with his proximity.

“Not a very useful thing to say right now,” Fenris grumbled.

“Would you like me to get Varric?”

Fenris stared down at the ground then he shook his head. “No.”

“Would you like me to help you back to the infirmary?”

Fenris was silent at that and through the bond, he felt the mage’s hesitancy and an odd sense of hurt. He had no idea why the mage would be hurt at his rejection. Pavus was a mage and Fenris was… Fenris.

“Because I’d like to think that I’m not a monster,” Dorian said quietly.

Fenris gave a start and raised his head to stare at the mage, realising that the tenor of his thoughts must have been transmitted through the bond.

“This is…”

“Awkward, yes, I know,” Dorian said. “I… was trying to find a way of at least allowing us some privacy in our own minds when I, uh… fell asleep.”

“You had a nightmare,” Fenris stated.

Dorian was silent for a moment. “Yes.”

There were many questions Fenris wanted to ask but he kept them to himself. He knew when Dorian realised that because a look of relief flitted across his face.

“Will you…” Fenris hesitated then sighed. “Will you help me back to my bed?”

He felt the surprise through the bond then the mage stepped forward and offered his hand. “Of course.”

Fenris let the mage help him to his feet. He picked up his sword and they made their slow way back towards the infirmary.

*******

Fenris’ reward for his nocturnal excursion and subsequent dramatic return leaning heavily on Dorian was to have Varric hovering over him with an excessively worried look on his face for most of the next day. He only backed off when Fenris finally growled at him and made some colourful threats about inserting his hand into the dwarf’s chest. Neither of them took the threats too seriously but Varric got the message anyway and sprawled in his usual chair.

“Actually,” he said with an arched eyebrow that Fenris knew boded nothing good. “I was a little surprised you didn’t do to Sparkler what you were just threatening to do to me.”

“I was tempted. More than once,” Fenris said archly then he grimaced and slouched down in his bed. “This… bond is… troublesome.”

“Do you need it removed?” Varric asked, straightening suddenly and looking alarmed.

Fenris shook his head. “I don’t mean it in that way. We can both pick up far more from each other than either of us is comfortable with.”

“I gather Sparkler’s doing something about that?”

Fenris nodded. “He is looking for a way to allows us some privacy in our own minds.”

Varric made a noise of understanding then he gave Fenris a shrewd look. “So what’s got you all worked up, Broody?”

“He is… not what I expected,” Fenris admitted reluctantly. He shrugged. “In some ways, he is but mostly he is… not.”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Well, I’d expect that any Tevinter who leaves his home and comes and helps the Inquisition is not going to be the average sort of person.”

“What do you think of him?”

Varric leaned back in his chair and gave Fenris’ question the consideration it deserved. “I like him. So much of his behaviour and personality is a mask, which makes sense from what he’s said about Tevinter. The place sounds more cutthroat than Orlais. He affects not to care about much at all when he actually cares very deeply about a lot of things. I’ve heard a few discussions on magical theory between him and Chuckles and as much as Chuckles is loathe to admit it, Sparkler can not only keep up with him intellectually but even surpass him on occasion, much to his annoyance. He’s got some odd notions here and there but I’ll give him this… if you challenge him, he will actually stop and think and if he realises he’s wrong, he’ll admit it. That’s more uncommon than you’d think.”

Fenris grunted and Varric watched the elf shrewdly. He had an inkling of what was going on in Fenris’ mind. The elf was always hard to read but he’d had ten years to practise and he suspected he was better at it than anyone else.

“You like him, don’t you?”

Fenris scowled. “No!”

Varric raised an eyebrow. “Then what?”

Fenris hesitated then he slowly admitted, “I do not _want_ to like him and yet…”

“You feel like you might, given enough time?” Varric suggested. “Like you did with Hawke?”

Fenris nodded.

“So what’s the problem?”

“He’s a Tevinter mage,” Fenris growled.

Varric gave him an understanding look. “Give it time, Broody. No one’s saying you have to decide how you feel about him right now. After all, it took you years to admit you liked Hawke.”

Fenris grunted. “True.”

Varric chuckled and decided to change the subject. “Josephine asked whether you were feeling up to moving out of the infirmary if the healers give you the all clear?”

Fenris quirked an eyebrow. “That’s an option?”

“The healers have given their provisional approval,” Varric said with a nod. “Since Sparkler cast his spell, you’ve been awake and able to look after yourself. They’re a bit concerned about your markings but there’s no real reason to keep you here if you don’t want to stay.”

Fenris nodded hurriedly. “Yes!”

Varric chuckled. “Alright, I’ll go talk to the healers and we’ll get you a better room than this place.”

******

Fenris looked around the room that had been provided for his ‘treatments’. It had been Dorian’s idea to use a place that was ‘neutral territory’, as he’d put it. He’d also arranged for Cullen to be there and the former Knight-Captain had assured Fenris that even though he’d stopped taking lyrium, he could still use his Templar abilities and could put a halt to things in an instant if Fenris asked him to. All in all, everyone had been bending over backwards to make Fenris feel comfortable and it was making him feel a little churlish for all his suspicions.

“Shouldn’t this wait until you’ve worked out how we can block each other out?” he asked as he sat down in the very comfortable chair that had been provided. It was lush and well-padded and he could half-sit, half-recline in it.

Dorian grimaced as he looked over his notes. Through the bond, Fenris could feel the hum of the mage’s thoughts as he prepared himself. “Possibly but I can’t say how long that will take and I don’t want to risk your markings destabilising any more than they already have.”

Fenris grunted and settled himself in the chair as comfortably as he could. He glanced over at Cullen who was watching them both with open concern. The Commander smiled awkwardly at him when he realised Fenris was watching.

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait for Varric to return?” Cullen asked.

Fenris shrugged. Adaar had taken Varric with him on his current outing to the Exalted Plains. He liked to take at least one rogue with him and since they were going there for something to do with Solas, Adaar had wanted to take Varric _and_ Cole with him. Adaar’s usual choice was Sera but Sera and Solas didn’t mix very well, according to Varric.

“It’ll be fine,” he said as Dorian finally turned around.

Dorian looked every inch the Tevinter mage in that moment and Fenris might have been crawling out of the chair and running except for what he could feel from the bond between them. Dorian was worried and determined, concerned about both of them and, as an undercurrent, faintly excited in a very youthful sort of way about the academic theory behind all of this. He could feel absolutely nothing in the way of negative or malicious thoughts within him. It was, all in all, rather soothing. 

“Right,” Dorian said. “Commander, pay close attention while we’re doing this. I’m not actually sure what kind of reactions we’ll have, other than there will be some pain. However, if it looks like it’s getting out of hand in any way, try and get my attention so I can stop. If you can’t get my attention, stop me whatever way you need to.”

Cullen nodded slowly. “Are you sure about that last bit? I’ll probably use the Silence and I’ve been told it’s… unpleasant.”

“I’m sure,” Dorian said. He sounded confident but Fenris could feel the sudden burst of nerves. “I’m sure it’ll be far less unpleasant than whatever is going on to cause you to use it.”

Cullen gave the mage a long look then he nodded. He squared his shoulders and clasped his hands around the hilt of his sword, the point of which was resting against the floor. “Very well.”

Dorian gave the Commander a single nod then turned to Fenris. “I won’t insult either of us by asking if you’re ready for this. I know you’re about as ready as I am.”

Fenris snorted. “Then let’s get on with it.”

Dorian nodded and stepped forward. Fenris did his best not to tense but he failed miserably in his attempt. He knew Dorian knew and suspected Cullen had realised as well but this had to be done. He wasn’t able to conceal the flinch when Dorian’s magic touched him and a grunt escaped him as the magic weaved its way into the markings, making them flare unpredictably. It was painful and left him unable to sit still.

He squirmed in the comfortable chair and fought the urge to run as far and as fast as he could. He could feel Dorian’s own discomfort, an echo of what he was feeling, slide through the bond even though the mage seemed to be trying to contain it. It made for a horrific feedback loop between them and Fenris clenched his teeth and gripped the arms of the chairs tight enough to make them creak as he tried to endure.

As Dorian kept going, Fenris realised that the pin was not actually _increasing_. It was just this relentless, unending ache and discomfort that he wanted to stop but couldn’t. But in the wake of the magic, in the areas Dorian had finished working on, he could tell the markings felt… clean, for lack of a better word. They felt normal, they felt as they always did and that was the only reason why he endured.

But as the spellcasting progressed, he found himself losing time, losing sight of where he was and even _who_ he was. He bucked up in the seat, an inarticulate noise escaping from his lips, and a moment later a sense of power washed over him. Dorian lurched backwards with a gasping wail and a flood of panicked fear and disorientation flooded through Fenris’ mind before being abruptly cut off. 

Fenris slumped back in the chair and tried to just breathe. He didn’t have the strength or, at this moment, the inclination to worry about Dorian as he tried to find his own centre and recover. He twitched and flinched as a warm hand came to rest on his shoulder and he opened his eyes to find a very worried Cullen looking at him.

“Fenris? Are you okay?”

Fenris managed a small nod and Cullen squeezed his shoulder momentarily before his hand disappeared. He heard Cullen’s footsteps move away and then a low murmur of voices on the other side of the room. It was then that he realised what had happened. His distress must have prompted Cullen to use the Silence. He frowned a little then. Cullen was supposed to try and get Dorian’s attention first. Had that happened? He couldn’t remember.

A few more minutes passed then he felt a presence at his side again. He opened his eyes to see a rather ragged and weary Dorian standing there.

“What went wrong?” Fenris asked, his voice a little raspy.

“Nothing. Or nothing to do with your markings,” Dorian replied. He gave a small, tired chuckle. “The spell was working as intended but we both became a little trapped in that _marvellous_ feedback loop we had going. Cullen couldn’t get either of us to respond to him and since we were apparently _both_ looking increasingly distressed, he put an end to it.” He rubbed his forehead. “A Silence. I don’t recommend it.”

Fenris nodded slowly. “It was working.” It wasn’t a question. He could feel the distinct difference between the markings that had been cleansed and the ones that were still affected. He could also feel the lingering effects of the Dorian’s magic in the clean areas, keeping them from being tainted again.

Dorian reached for a stool and sank down on it. Cullen was nowhere to be seen but when the door opened and he slipped in with a bottle of wine and three glasses, Fenris realised he’d gone for something to fortify all three of them.

He accepted the glass when it was offered and sipped at the wine. He raised his eyebrows when he tasted it. “Good,” he murmured.

“I convinced Josephine to let me have a bottle,” Cullen said, looking a little bashful. He was cradling his glass in a manner that said he had poured it for himself more out of a sense of politeness than because he was particularly interested in drinking it. He took a sip nonetheless and a bit of colour returned to his cheeks. Fenris took that to mean that Cullen’s choice to partake was more medicinal than anything else. He realised that Cullen must have had a bad time of it himself, being unable to reach them and having to use an ability that he knew would hurt Dorian.

“I should get you to wheedle wine out of Josephine more often,” Dorian said in a pale imitation of his normal manner. “She always ignores me.”

Cullen managed a wan smile. “Maybe. How are you feeling?”

“I’ll recover,” Dorian said then he flapped a hand at Cullen. “Oh, do stop giving me that kicked puppy look. You did what was needed, you did precisely what we agreed to. Stop feeling guilty about it.”

“I just…” Cullen sighed and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “You said it might be painful and I wasn’t sure if…”

“You did the right thing,” Dorian said firmly. “Yes, the procedure is not pain free. In fact, it’s deeply uncomfortable for both of us. But we were caught up in a feedback loop that was driving both of us onwards.”

Fenris twitched as he realised Dorian was right. That was the part of the loop that he hadn’t picked up on at the time but could clearly sense now. They’d been driving each other onwards, each wanting to get this over and done with for a myriad of reasons, and, as such, they had driven themselves right into a situation that could have been very dangerous.

“I can’t be doing that every time,” Cullen protested. “It’s not right.”

Dorian waved a hand again as he slumped a little on the stool. It was the first time Fenris had really seen the man without the majority of his masks up and even though he had an unwanted insight into the man’s true personality, it was still interesting to see it shown instead of just felt. It also made Dorian look entirely more human. Because it was one thing to feel it but it was another thing entirely to see it. It made it more real instead of something that could potentially be dismissed as figment of his imagination.

He looked up find Dorian watching him with a guarded expression. His thoughts – or at least the tenor of them – must have been obvious. The mage didn’t seem upset, in fact, if anything, there was a faint sense of hope deep in his eyes. Fenris didn’t know what that was about but he felt a great deal of his animosity, animosity based on Dorian’s background more than the man himself, towards Dorian fade away. He gave the man a small nod and turned back to Cullen.

“I have no answers but this needs to be done. I can already feel the difference.”

Cullen gave him a long look then sighed and scrubbed his face with one hand. “Fine but let’s work out something better for next time.”

******

Fenris walked along the battlements with a feeling of wellbeing that he hadn’t known since before he’d woken here in Skyhold. Not that he was completely better but Dorian had cleared enough of the taint in his markings that he no longer felt that crawling ache every second of the day. Most of the remaining tainted lyrium was located along his back and down his legs and it was easier to ignore than it had been.

Unfortunately, Dorian hadn’t been quite as successful at finding a way to shield their minds from each other but they’d also gotten better at ignoring the information they inadvertently learned from and about the other. That, however, had been difficult this week. Fenris wasn’t entirely sure what had happened but their sessions had been cancelled for the moment and the distress and pain bleeding through the bond was unmistakable and seemingly never-ending. Fenris had firmly ignored it at first but it had been seven days now and the pain and grief hadn’t lessened in the slightest. 

What’s more, they were periodically joined by the sensation of deep inebriation. Fenris wasn’t exactly going to judge the man about that given his own drinking history, but that also meant that he knew what an unhealthy level of drinking was. He’d just never been able to feel it in another. 

He’d tried asking Adaar about what was going on but the Vashoth Inquisitor had been vague and evasive, eventually claiming that if Fenris wanted to know, he’d have to ask Dorian himself. Fenris had planned on ignoring that advice however not even he was immune to the misery leaking through the bond. The bond also meant that his preconceptions about Dorian had been almost entirely stripped away. All that was left was his stubbornness.

He rounded the corner on the battlements and saw the section that was partially collapsed in front of him. Sitting on the edge of the collapsed section was Dorian. He had a bottle sitting next to him but it was unopened. Instead, he was tossing pebbles down into the mass of rocks in front of him. He looked disconsolate and slightly sullen. Fenris walked over and sat down beside him.

Dorian kept throwing those small pebbles into the rock pile, occasionally shooting questioning glances at Fenris but not saying anything. After a while, Fenris picked up the bottle of wine. He glanced at the label then snorted and tossed it down into the rock pile where it shattered quite satisfactorily.

“Anything else you’d like to toss down there,” Dorian said acidly. “Like me perhaps?”

“Tempting,” Fenris said dryly. “That was the worst swill in the entire tavern.”

“It would have gotten me drunk.”

“I noticed.”

Dorian hunched in on himself a bit. Fenris looked out of the view they had from here and he felt more than saw Dorian straighten again. The confusion, however, was obvious through the bond. 

“You’re not going to ask?” Dorian finally said after several more minutes of silence.

Fenris shrugged. “Do you want to tell me?”

“No.”

“Then… no, I’m not going to ask.”

Dorian lapsed into a silence that was confused and wary. Fenris raised his face the sun and drew in a deep breath, letting it out again slowly. The stronghold was always warm. It had been explained to him that it was some sort of ancient Elvhen magic and he’d stopped listening at that point. He might be more accepting of magic these days but that didn’t mean he wanted to know the details.

“Would you fuck me if I asked?”

Fenris whipped his head around to stare at Dorian. That was the last question he’d ever expected to come from the man, especially right now. He didn’t much like the question either. It had been said in a ragged, grieved tone and from the look on Dorian’s face and what he could feel through the bond, the question had little to do with any real desire and a lot more to do with some bizarre form of self-flagellation.

“No,” he snapped and he ended up feeling startled again, this time at the flash of hurt that came through the bond.

The hurt was quickly replaced with that soul-wrenching despair and Dorian looked, for a moment, like he was contemplating tossing himself off the battlements. Fenris tensed and the moment passed.

“My father tried to… to _change_ me,” Dorian said, the words seemingly almost ripped out of him.

Fenris arched an eyebrow. “Change you?”

A sneer settled on Dorian’s face and it was directed entirely inwards towards himself. “Well, he couldn't have his only son and heir preferring the company of men, could he?”

Understanding now dawned. The only thing that Adaar _had_ been willing to tell him was that Dorian’s father had requested a meeting. He’d assumed that Pavus senior was involved with the Venatori and that was why it hadn’t gone well but it seemed it had been much more personal.

“Magisters need to have more children,” he said into the silence that had returned.

Dorian went still beside him then he began to laugh. Once he started, he couldn’t seem to stop and there was a distinct edge of hysteria about it that made Fenris do something he’d never thought he would – he reached out and wrapped an arm around Dorian’s shoulders. The mage stiffened under his touch then just crumpled and collapsed against him, the laughter morphing into deep, tearing sobs.

Fenris brought his other arm up to hold the mage and felt the last of his stubborn antipathy towards the man crumble as thoroughly as the wall in front of them had. This man was almost as broken as he was and, like him, he’d been piecing himself back together. This visit to his father had threatened to shatter him once again. Fenris knew what it was to be shattered and to wonder if you could ever put yourself back together again.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed before Dorian quietened in his arms. He did feel the way the man started to stiffen and pull away and he held on for a moment longer before letting go. He deliberately didn’t look at Dorian as he straightened and wiped his face and only when he had settled into a sort of baffled quiet did he speak.

“Your father is an idiot. If he thinks your only value is to produce children then he never deserved you in the first place.”

He could feel the way Dorian’s mind churned that over, though the mage was shielding now and he couldn’t get much of an idea of precisely what he was thinking.

“I thought you didn’t like me.”

Fenris huffed. “You’ve grown on me.” Dorian preened a little, though it was a sad and sorry echo of his usual mannerisms. Fenris let him go for a moment then continued very, very dryly, “Like fungus.”

Dorian gave a startled bark of laughter then settled into a quiet chuckle before falling silent again. “Thank you,” he murmured.

Fenris nodded and felt something settle not only within him but between them. He got to his feet but before he took his leave, he rested one hand on Dorian’s shoulder. He waited until Dorian looked up at him then said, “Just for the record, I _would_ fuck you if you asked… just not as something meaningless designed to hurt yourself.”

He straightened and walked away, smiling a little at the welter of emotions he could feel through the bond.

******

Fenris opened his eyes when the magic stopped coursing through him and saw Dorian stepping back, looking insufferably smug. He snorted and looked over at Cullen. The Commander just looked amused, shaking his head as he sheathed his sword.

“I take it that it’s done?” he asked as he rolled his shoulders and settled his armour.

“It is,” Fenris said with open relief.

“Good,” Cullen said with a smile. “I’m glad. I’ll go and inform the Inquisitor. I’m sure he’ll be equally pleased.”

He directed a short bow at both of them and left. Fenris watched him go them sat up and stretched and rolled his shoulders. He felt _normal_ and it was a better feeling than he’d ever thought possible.

“Were you able to stabilise the markings?” he asked, turning to raise an eyebrow at Dorian. “I thought I felt something odd at the end.”

Dorian had been watching him stretch apparently because he now hurriedly looked away and straightened up his notes. Fenris smirked a little. They’d been doing this odd dance ever since their encounter on the battlements. His last comment to Dorian had set it off and while he’d regretted it for a short while, by now, he quite enjoyed it. There was no chance now that Dorian saw him as a slave and on his part, he no longer saw Dorian as the enemy. 

Instead they were now doing this little dance that he’d found himself enjoying immensely. It was a novel sensation to be wanted and desired. And he most certainly _was_ wanted and desired. As good as Dorian – as both of them – had become at shielding their respective sides of the bond, things inevitably leaked through. It was maddening, often frustrating and definitely enjoyable.

“I was,” Dorian replied, turning back to face him. “Maevaris was right in her theory.”

Fenris nodded. “Pass on my thanks to her then.”

“I shall,” Dorian replied. He stepped forward again, raising his hands. “I can remove the binding now.”

Fenris blinked and then nodded. “_Yes_.”

Dorian placed a hand on his forehead and he closed his eyes as he cast the spell to lift the binding. Nothing happened. Dorian’s eyes popped open and he stared at Fenris in shock. He then cast the spell again.

“What is wrong?” Fenris said, a slight edge in his voice.

Dorian frowned. “I’m not sure.” He cast the spell for a third time. Again, nothing happened. “Well… that’s a problem.”

Fenris very deliberately sent a shaft of annoyance through the bond and had the satisfaction of seeing Dorian’s eyes snap immediately to his own. “Have you bound us together permanently?” he demanded.

“No!” Dorian yelped. “Well, maybe but no. I’m sure I can undo it. I figured out how to reverse Alexius’ puzzle spell back home in less than an hour, I’m sure I can unbind us as well.”

“You have no idea what you did with the spell originally, do you?” Fenris said with exasperation.

“I was endeavouring to not treat you like property,” Dorian snapped back at him. “Excuse me for trying to be a decent human being.”

Fenris forcibly reined in his irritation. “But you _can_ unbind us?”

“Yes,” Dorian replied, though he didn’t sound quite so certain. “I will find a way.”

Dorian pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, looking weary. As he did, something flashed down the bond and Fenris cocked his head as he deciphered it. He raised an eyebrow and stared at Dorian, who was staring at the floor, deep in thought.

“What was that thing you were thinking?” he asked.

Dorian raised his head, confused. “What?”

“You were thinking about something you had intended to do once we were done here?”

Fenris knew he wasn’t being entirely fair right now. He damn well knew what Dorian had intended. The flash had been brief but it had been vivid.

Dorian flushed and shook his head. “Nothing.”

“Dorian,” Fenris said firmly. “What were you planning?”

Dorian dithered for a moment then he raised his head. He looked a little bit like he was being led to an executioner but he squared his shoulders nonetheless. “I had planned to ask if I might kiss you and then perhaps suggest we do some far more unspeakable but delicious things.”

Fenris flushed a little and felt a stab of arousal strike him. He wasn’t an innocent, hadn’t been before he’d arrived in Kirkwall – though the less said about that, the better – and Isabela had made sure that his experiences there had been very pleasant indeed. And educational as well. She’d erased a lot of very bad ingrained habits he’d possessed, for which he was immensely grateful.

“Have you abandoned those plans?” he asked.

The look Dorian gave him was startled. “You would…” He licked his lips and took a step closer. “I’d assumed that they were off the table with the… binding.”

Fenris arched an eyebrow at him. “Oh, you _will_ find a way to remove the binding but until then…” He very deliberately allowed Dorian to feel the now simmering arousal the mage’s suggestion had stoked within him and had the pleasure of seeing Dorian’s eyes widen and darken.

“Well, now,” Dorian said, taking his own step forward. “I had thought I might get that hand in the chest but… no?”

Fenris’ lips twitched into a faint smile. “I save that for people I don’t like.”

Dorian took another step forward and nudged his way between Fenris’ knees. “So, you like me, do you?”

“You’re not the worst person in the world,” Fenris said dryly.

“Charming,” Dorian replied as he placed his hands on the arms of the chair and leaned forward. “Fenris?”

“Yes?”

“May I kiss you?”

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “I’ll think about it.”

He laughed at the outraged look on Dorian’s face then leaned forward to close the gap between them and press his lips against the mage’s. For a moment, Dorian didn’t move then he very quickly caught up. The kiss was gentle at first, a slow exploration, testing the waters to see whether this really was something they wanted. Then something sparked between them, fed through the bond, and the kiss became more heated and hungrier. Dorian nudged forward between his thighs and Fenris gripped the man’s ridiculous clothes to pull him in closer.

Fenris let out a low noise of _want_ when Dorian moved to kiss his way along his jawline. He slid one hand up run it into Dorian’s hair. Dorian hummed his approval and lipped his way along Fenris’ ear until he could nip lightly at the delicate point. Fenris jerked and moaned and then gripped Dorian’s hair to pull him back a little. Dorian looked delightfully smug and Fenris snorted.

“My room is closer,” he said as he started to shove Dorian backwards.

Dorian’s eyes darkened a little more and he pulled away with a nod. “What a marvellous idea.”

Later, Fenris would be eternally grateful that the path between the treatment room and his room had been wonderfully empty of people because otherwise he might have put his abilities to a use they were not meant for. The moment the door closed behind them, he shoved Dorian back against it and attacked his mouth again. Dorian was gloriously pliant against him, eagerly surrendering to his touch. When Fenris turned his attention to Dorian’s neck, the mage tilted his head back to rest against the door and give him better access.

“I have had some…” Dorian gasped as Fenris hit a particularly sensitive spot. “…particularly frustrating dreams that started like this.”

Some old, old doubts, ones that still lingered despite all he’d learned through the bond, made Fenris stiffen and pull back a fraction.

“Dreams of me or of the slave having power over you,” he snapped.

He could feel the way Dorian suddenly distanced himself mentally and emotionally, if not physically, and while part of him cursed himself, the rest wanted to see how Dorian would react.

Dorian closed his eyes for a moment and when he opened them again, there was something soft and understanding in them. “Testing me again?”

Fenris froze then sighed and looked away to the side. “Perhaps.”

He felt fingers brush his chin and cheek before Dorian spoke. “I won’t deny that I have had dreams like that in the past. Who doesn’t have rather depraved dreams from time to time? The mind does tend to work in strange ways and desire demons like to prey on such things.” Those fingers gently coaxed Fenris into raising his head. “But my dreams about you have never been about the slave. Since I have known you, I have never seen the slave you once were. I have only seen a free man, living his life the best he can.” He gave a rathe whimsical smile. “As we all do as best as we can.”

Fenris closed his eyes and leaned against Dorian, letting his forehead come to rest on the mage’s shoulder. Dorian snaked an arm around his waist and held him, letting the silence remain unfilled. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence though, just… contemplative.

“I… apologise,” Fenris began but Dorian cut him off with a chuffing noise.

“Never apologise to me about _that_ sort of insecurity.” He made a low noise. “And never hesitate to kick me up the rear end if I backslide. I like to think I could be a good man but who can tell based on how I was raised?”

Fenris turned that thought over in his mind. “You are a good man,” he said as he raised his head just in time to see the desperate hope in Dorian’s eyes before he shuttered them. “A Tevinter Magister would have thought to claim me for the lyrium I have in my skin and what that means.” A sneer flitted over his lips. “A living magical battery.”

Dorian stared at him as though that had never occurred to him. After his time spent with the man, Fenris knew it was entirely possible it hadn’t. Dorian was a very clever man but he did have his blind spots. The sheer perfidy of his fellow mages of Tevinter was, oddly enough, one of them. Oh, he knew they were _capable_ of such things, he just… hated hearing that they _did_ do them. Or rather he was always so _disappointed_ as though he expected better of them and hated that they didn’t meet those expectations.

Fenris snorted and looked amused. “And that reaction alone tells me you are a good man. You never considered that. Weeks cleaning the taint out of my markings and it never occurred to you to draw on the magic within them.”

“I… was aware it was possible,” Dorian said, still looking flummoxed. “But...”

Now Fenris started to chuckle and he shook his head. “Yes, I apologise unreservedly for assuming the worst of your frustrated dreams.”

Dorian blinked, that slightly bamboozles look lingering. “I… very well…” He sighed and gave Fenris a plaintive look. “Can we just go back to what we were doing? I was enjoying that.”

Fenris abruptly pushed him tight against the door again, his mood altering immediately. “As was I.”

Dorian’s eye darkened once more and his arm tightened around Fenris’ waist. “Oh good. I’d hate to waste the mood.”

******

Fenris woke slowly and for once without any pain other than a few slightly sore muscles. He opened his eyes and snorted with amusement one he took in the state of his bedmate. Dorian was sprawled on the bed, his arms wrapped around one of the pillows and his face buried in that pillow so firmly that Fenris actually wondered how he could breathe. The blankets had slipped down to their waists during the night and there was a wealth of warm brown skin on display, only slightly marred by marks Fenris had left as he’d grasped at his lover during their passion. Dorian’s hair was a disaster, sticking up every which way, and the image he presented was entirely enticing.

Dorian had been very sweet the previous night. There had been no hesitation in his responses or his desire in seeing that both of them enjoyed themselves. If Fenris hadn’t spent all those hours relearning his body and it’s reactions with Isabela, he might not have realised that Dorian’s behaviour spoke of someone who had not always had sex go the way he wanted and never wanted to put someone else in that position. It made Fenris want to introduce some people to his lyrium abilities.

He didn’t realise he hadn’t exactly been guarding his thoughts or reactions from the bond between them until Dorian shifted, pulling his head out of the pillow and staring blearily at Fenris.

“Fenris?” he mumbled. “What’s wrong?”

Fenris took the opportunity to run his hand down Dorian’s spine, smirking when the motion caused Dorian to arch into his touch like a cat. “Nothing.”

Dorian hummed as he settled back down on his side. Fenris thought he might go back to sleep but instead he continued to watch through heavy-lidded eyes. He could feel the thrum of thoughts and emotions through the bond though Dorian _was_ shielding enough to prevent him from determining precisely what they were.

“What now?” Dorian finally said and there was a hint of trepidation in there that Fenris didn’t much like.

“Now?” he said, deciding not to ask and see how things played out. “Now, I make myself available to the Inquisition and you work out how to end this bond.”

“And then?”

The trepidation was a bit stronger now and Fenris had an inkling of what was causing it. 

“And then I suppose we’ll have to actually _talk_ about things instead of using the bond to cheat,” he said dryly.

Dorian stared at him for a moment, clearly waking up a bit more. “And then?”

Fenris shoved the mage over onto his back and slithered onto top of him. “And then we see where this goes. Stop trying to sabotage it.”

Dorian opened his mouth to object then he closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the pillows. “I am, aren’t I?” He hesitated for a moment. “No one stays.”

“Because they were Tevinter mages and, therefore, idiots,” Fenris replied bluntly as he nudged Dorian’s legs apart and slid between them. “I am neither of those things.”

Dorian drew in a shuddering breath and Fenris couldn’t tell whether it was because of what he’d said or because their cocks were now sliding together in a very pleasant manner. He concluded it was probably both.

“Oh, that is lovely,” Dorian breathed, undulating his hips lazily. “You’re very good at this.”

“Thank Isabela for that,” Fenris replied as he attacked Dorian’s neck, looking to add to the marks he’d left there the previous night, something Dorian clearly approved of given the way he arched into it. “She was a very good teacher.”

“Remind me to send her a fruit basket,” Dorian moaned, clutching at Fenris’ shoulders.

Fenris let out a soft laugh and then was completely distracted by the mage underneath him. If someone had told him back in Kirkwall that befriending Hawke would end up with him taking a Tevinter mage as his lover, he’d have run a mile. But here and now, he wouldn’t change a thing… even if it did take a slightly botched binding spell to get them here.


End file.
